


down on your knees at the scene of your crime

by Caracalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Consent Issues, Dreamsharing, Epilogue, Epilogue Compliant - Meat, Epilogue Dirk Strider, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Incest, Kneeling, Loyalty, M/M, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 13:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18551155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: Rose sends out an SOS. She has a plan for taking Dirk down.





	down on your knees at the scene of your crime

Rose’s first message arrives in a half-empty apple cider bottle.

“Ugh, dude, really? Save the sick self-burns for after we save your ass,” says Dream Dave. His joy and relief are muted by the lilac haze seeping into his cognition. He hopes that Rose has not tumbled off the wagon, but that hope is a gentle, quaint thing, dwarfed by his longing to see her alive.

“Everyone’s a critic,” reads the message. The reader is at liberty to imagine a rueful, prescient doodle accompanying those words.

On the other hand, the sender has had her fill of crass doodles lately.

“Our coordinates are on the cork,” he reads, notes that her letters got flattened and evened out by the dreamscape. “I assume the cavalry is on its merry way.”

“Well.” Dave takes a moment to affect a thousand-yard stare, not remotely hindered by his dream-shades. “Unless Kanaya kills us all as an example, yes.”

“An example for whom?” asks the note.

“The universe, for daring to cross her.”

“Not Dirk?”

Dave shrugs in a way the sender might find comforting, were she there now, or currently in possession of the necessary emotional equipment. “If you ask her not to kill him,” he says, “that’s your right, she’ll probably do what you want. Guess she misses you, or something. You've got matrimonial leeway.”

“And you?”

Dave is allowed a moment to pretend confusion, or give in to obvious sentiment. He resists both options.

“I’ll do what you want,” he says, “if you ask me to kill him, that’s your right.”

The lilac landscape presses closer. The note is no longer necessary.

_And if I don’t want that?_

“Then I’ll take him home with us. Mainly me, I mean.” 

_Oh?_

“Listen. Karkat and I workshopped it and I really think -”

_You don’t need to think._

The lilac noose almost tightens, but then it relents. It’s just Dave, only Dave. Worthy of trust. There’s no need nor space here for desperate manipulations.

_I mean, you can think and do what you want. But I have a plan..._

* * *

A cold man stands alone in his bedroom.

He is about to indulge in that most embarrassing literary masturbation - the soliloquy on his family issues. He is underdressed for the occasion.

He won't treat himself to literal wanking. He doesn’t touch the Strider rifle since Rose threw his fucking gloves out into the void.

He misses that time. She was so defiant, so full of the rage he deserves from her. A pliant puppet, yes, when that was what he wanted. But out here in space, that usually wasn’t what was the most convenient for him.

So he let her off the leash for longer. And she took up ironing. She became a wall - giving him nothing to spark off of - nothing at all like he had wanted.

The narrator has to face his own fucking facts: his daughter doesn’t want to follow in his footsteps. 

When he gives her the autonomy to make such choices, she becomes laughably passive. Calling it passive-aggressive would be overly generous. There’s nothing there but a coldness and diligence, reminiscent of her wife at her most determined. 

When her autonomy is taken away, her eyes shine with a cold light, and her tongue is sharper than a blade of the reader’s choice.But her arguments come from him. Across lifetimes and timelines, there was always one thing he got tired of: arguing with himself.

“Rose! Quit your ironing and get over here.”

On Earth, there was no space for the narrator to unravel. Here, there are some contradictions between different Dirks he has absorbed into himself. Some disgust, at his current role as the misogynist caricature.

“What are your thoughts on behavior modification?” he asks, with a poised chill that sometimes makes him feel better. She smiles at him, small and bland.

She used to try riling him up by calling him papa, or benevolent creator. Now, even that’s missing, and it stings.

“Shall I read up on classical conditioning?” she asks, so accommodating. 

“You can use your common fucking sense. You know I ain’t satisfied with your performance.”

“No?” She blinks at him, slow and placid. Wonders what her mother would think.

“I can yank the narrative reins away at any moment,” he demonstrates. Her face sometimes seems as inscrutable as Roxy’s, though that’s metaphysically impossible. “But I was thinking, perhaps I should try something simpler. The carrot and stick method. What do you think?”

Rose is compelled to respond. “Do you mean to strife with me? Near some stairs?”

“Hell, it worked on most Daves I’ve seen. Most Jakes too. You might be eternal but you’re still not safe an’ chrome.” They can both float but he can still make it - instructional.

His revulsion over himself right now is immaterial. He looms over her. It's deliberate. He can tell she’s shaken.

He can tell she’s shaken by the crash against their ship.

He know who it is, but tritely asks anyway. “What the fuck?”

“He’s here, daddy.” Rose lets the wall fall away. “Your carrot and your stick. You always knew he would come for me.”

* * *

As Jade’s BF/F, Dave learned that godmodding fucking sucks. As the mastermind behind the SBAHJiverse, he learned that loudmouth narrators get on everyone’s nerves after a while.

Besides, he doesn’t want to tell Dirk what to do. If Rose’s plan works, he won’t need to. If not, there’s always Kanaya’s plan.

Dirk and Rose are circling each other, like dueling tigers. She’s learned to flashstep, across short distances. She looks more like Dirk than ever, and the other way around.

“You’re here to kill me, Dave?” Dirk’s got this thing he does with his voice. Questions are made to sound like commands. But it won’t work on Dave, not where he knows what to look for.

He still draws his sword. Forgets to flinch at the sound.

Dirk’s transfixed, and Dave wonders if Rose is doing some narrative magic in the background. He can’t tell from third-person limited.

“Why don’t you walk up to him,” Rose says. Her questions aren’t usually questions either. But Dave’s got no problem with listening to her.

Dirk is still, throat bared. He’s not wearing pants, which was presumably a Lalondian twist of timing. The tip of Dave’s knockoff Caledfwlch comes up. That’s not anyone’s decision but Dave’s own. 

Dirk’s got a long, thin neck, Adam’s-apple standing out so sharp and ugly. He’s forgotten to breathe again, the idiot.  


“What now?” Dave asks.

“Grab him by the horns,” Rose says. “I have it on good authority that he’s into that.”

Dirk’s hair is just as silky as Rose’s. The thought makes Dave tug, hard enough to remind Dirk to inhale. Dave kicks his legs under him, which is a Bro move he never got to use before.

“Decapitation? You’re too kind,” Dirk says, and he’s as sincere as he’s ever been.

“Nah,” Dave says, dragging his sword lower down. “I don’t think so.”

Dirk’s just wearing a black tanktop and crumpled black boxers. The decor up in here also screams ‘minimalist porno’. His fucking gloves are gone, and so is the katana he used to carry around.

Dave could hurt him, if he wanted to. Dirk would probably appreciate it.

Fake Caledfwlch clatters to the ground, and Dave isn’t easing his grip on Dirk’s hair.

“All of them love you,” Rose says, “in all the timelines. Except they don’t have any idea what that really means, so. The Dirk we want is the one who worships you.”

“Aren’t they all the same dude?” Dave asks and Dirk looks up at him with something like - admiration, okay. He always likes it when Dave knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Yes, but no,” Rose says. Right. “If they were all the same, he’d be actually right about his role in the story. Unbearable, can you imagine? No, we want to get the one you hugged on the roof, and then we let the others burn.”

“We?” 

A lilac second of hesitation. Something like a snort from Dirk.

“I want in on this,” Rose tell him, and it’s only the third most surprising thing Dave heard today. “You don’t need me for it, strictly speaking, but -”

“But I want you here,” Dave says. No snort this time from down below. He twists Dirk’s hair, just because he can. “If we’re going to keep him safe from your wife, she’s got to see he’s your bitch now, right?”

“As always, I appreciate your brevity when describing complex social dynamics,” Rose says. It’s so good to see her again, comfortable and comforting in spite of her new sharpness. 

For a millisecond, he’s tempted to leave Dirk to the Void. Does he need him? He’ll never need him, he’s got Rose.

But apparently he wants him, or whatever.

Dirk’s silence is becoming a danger sign, but Dave’s sure Rose has got it covered. He pushes him between the shoulder blades, and he’s not that surprised when Dirk falls forward. He’s probably plotting his next backstab - he’s got a graceful, muscular back.

Rose leads the way for them both. There’s a lilac sheen to Dirk’s current obedience, and Dave can’t wait to learn what happens when that shatters.


End file.
